


Queen of Ashes

by Lady_in_Red



Series: The Lion of Lannister [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, post-season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime is given an army and a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Ashes

Jaime had never been fond of the throne room, but of late he’d learned to loathe it. If standing behind the king, silent and watchful, was a trial, standing among those waiting to speak with the queen was worse. Seated upon the Iron Throne, Cersei was beautiful and forbidding, the Mountain at one side behind her and Qyburn at the other. She sat stiffly upright, and when she shifted he saw why. She wore a sword, the ornate scabbard tangling in her heavy skirts as she moved. The jeweled hilt shone against her black gown. 

Craftsmen seeking the queen’s favor held gifts: sumptuous fabrics, gold trinkets, and exotic fruits. Lords summoned to bend the knee nervously picked at their fine clothes and watched each man before him, trying to make his groveling more obsequious than the last. Any minute now one might decide to try to kiss her feet. At least they knew why they were here. Jaime had been summoned by the queen but given no hint why she required his presence.

Jaime had spent much of the day in the Hand’s solar, where Jaime still expected to see his father behind the desk. Kevan had left his papers in neat piles, thinking he’d be back in a few hours. Since Kevan would never scowl at these papers again, someone must deal with the business of Casterly Rock. Jaime’s chief concern when he’d begun was the status of the Lannister forces, but the plunging output of the Rock’s gold mines had caught his attention instead.

“Ser Jaime Lannister.” Qyburn’s voice had a slight quaver to it that struck Jaime as false. A man who viewed living people as nothing more than objects to study could not be trusted, especially a man who’d worked for both Locke and Roose Bolton.

Jaime stepped forward, uneasy. With Qyburn whispering in her ear, Cersei had entrusted her safety to the monstrous Mountain, killed hundreds of innocents, and let their last living child jump out of a window. He could not help but see the broken form of Bran Stark when he thought of it. The gods, if they existed, were cruel indeed.

Jaime inclined his head but did not bow. “Your Grace.”

Her eyes were bright, a hint of a smile curving her lips. She was enjoying this, the crowded throne room hushed to hear her every word, firelight from the massive braziers caressing her lovely face. “Ser Jaime, I name you Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.” 

He’d been expecting this. Father had wanted this, and Cersei as well once Robert was gone. She still needed his sword, but now his sword would swing from thousands of arms, and ride across Westeros on hundreds of horses. “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Your swift capture of Riverrun gives me confidence that you will have the same success with Winterfell.” Her eyes held his, dark and unreadable.

“Winterfell?” Jaime masked his displeasure poorly. So he was to be Cersei’s dog now, sent off to maul her enemies one by one while she lounged upon her throne. 

“The traitor Ned Stark’s bastard has forsaken his vows with the Night’s Watch to steal the castle back for his sister. The Northern lords then named him King in the North. You will ride north and remind them of their folly.” 

Mounting an attack on the North in winter was more than reckless. It bordered on madness. “The North is weakened, but Lannister forces have not gone north of the Neck in a thousand years. The Starks only bent the knee during the Conquest under threat of dragon fire.”

One golden eyebrow rose as Cersei shifted uncomfortably on the throne. No man sat easily among the sharp edges of a thousand swords, but the sword at her hip seemed to be the problem. She clearly wasn’t accustomed to wearing it and kept touching the pommel. Of course, Joffrey’s sword. Widow’s Wail. A vulgar name for a treasure he’d not lived long enough to appreciate.

“You will bring me the bastard’s head, along with his sister and her champion. Sansa Stark will stand trial by combat for Joffrey’s murder.” Cersei smiled, feral and fierce. Jaime had stolen her revenge when he released Tyrion, but now she could heap all their brother’s sins, real and imagined, on his unwilling bride’s shoulders.

Jaime opened his mouth to argue, but this was not the place. He bowed and left before she could ask more of him.

He did not return to the Hand’s chambers, which he occupied since Qyburn had no interest in them and he was no longer welcome in the White Sword Tower. Instead Jaime went to Cersei’s chambers. 

Despite the vow he’d sworn to Catelyn Stark, Jaime did not care about Sansa. But Brienne did, and nothing Jaime could say would stop her from coming south to champion the girl. After fighting a bear, Brienne might think she could win, though her misplaced honor would compel her to fight even if she knew she had no chance. The Mountain was far more dangerous than a bear. Jaime had seen Princess Elia’s ravaged body. The Mountain would enjoy drawing out her pain before he killed her. 

And Cersei was eager to watch. She’d smiled as Oberyn Martell died screaming. According to the servants she visited the dungeons every day to supervise the torture of the septa who’d tormented her. 

Jaime had always assumed that Joffrey’s streak of cruelty came from his father. Robert had been a brawler in his youth, savage with his warhammer and often rough with the women he took after melees. Tyrion had told Jaime all about Joffrey’s public beatings of Sansa Stark and private brutality with Littlefinger’s whores. But those appetites were not Robert’s alone. 

The Mountain opened her door an hour later. Cersei swept in and dismissed him, so focused on pouring herself a cup of wine that she didn’t notice Jaime. A sword, a crown, and a cup of wine. All she’d ever wanted. 

“I’ve just arrived. Why are you sending me away again?”

She drank greedily from the cup and turned to face him. “Ellaria Sand controls Dorne, Olenna Tyrell’s forces have left the city, Walder Frey was killed in his own hall, and the North has crowned another Stark brat king. We are surrounded by enemies, don’t you see that?” 

“You might have thought of that before you killed Olenna’s entire family,” Jaime reminded her dryly, regretting it when he saw the flare of anger in her eyes. Cersei was prickly enough as it was, and armed besides. “All the more reason for me to stay.” 

She set the cup down hard, wine sloshing on the table. “Killing Snow will show the rest what we will do to anyone who dares rise against me. Bend the knee or die.” 

A shiver traveled up Jaime’s spine. Marriage to Robert had hardened Cersei, but he’d always been able to see the soft, vulnerable heart of her: the girl she had been, the maiden in his arms. Now all he saw was the queen she’d become, as merciless and unyielding as the steel at her hip. Steel she had no idea how to wield.

“And if the Tyrells attack?” he asked. “The Mountain cannot hold back an army.”

Cersei’s delicate fingers worked at the swordbelt, unbuckling it and setting it aside. “Strike fast, without mercy, and install a loyal Westerman at Winterfell. You’ll be back before that crone can even think about mounting an attack.”

“Cersei, this won’t be quick. Our men have no experience fighting in a Northern winter. Theirs do.” He was facing another siege, his men starving and freezing to death while the Starks simply waited behind their walls. 

Cersei cocked her head and smiled. “They’ll open the gates for you.”

“And why would they do that?” The only way Jaime could see that happening was if Jon Snow had the block ready for him in the yard, ready to swing his sword in judgement.

“Because you’ll send a raven announcing your visit and ride in under a flag of truce.”

Jaime barked a laugh. “Jon Snow will never open his gates to me. Nor will Sansa.”

She looked smug. “Brienne of Tarth will.”

Jaime was momentarily speechless. She knew. Not everything, how could she when Jaime did not understand it himself? 

“She won’t.” She would. Damn it, Brienne would open the gates and greet him with awkward formality, putting people or furniture between them to prevent an impulsive touch they could not dismiss. He was accustomed to their dance, and the way it set his pulse racing like a good fight.

Cersei crossed the room to stand before him. “The cow loves you. Don’t pretend you don’t know, after she came to you at Riverrun.”

“We talked, Cersei. Nothing more.” And not nearly long enough. She’d barely skimmed over her travels and triumphs before turning talk to the Blackfish.

Cersei looked down on him, her gaze hungry, lightly scratching his stubbled jaw with sharp-nailed fingers. “They all saw it, you know. She was the talk of the camp. A traitor wearing Lannister steel, demanding entrance to your pavilion as if she belonged there.”

Brienne was good, deep in her bones, and innocent despite the blood on her hands. He’d easily rebuffed countless practiced seductions, but he had no defense against her faith in him, her trust. Brienne tempted him like no other ever had. He should be ashamed of the thrill it gave him to see his sword on her hip. They would both pay for that thrill if Cersei had her way.

“I sent her to kill Stannis Baratheon. She succeeded.” This lie slipped out easily, well practiced. He’d long known that he might need to answer for that particular gift. What Jaime had done was treason no matter how he rationalized it. So was releasing Tyrion. 

Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “You will write to her, and she will let you into the castle. Winterfell has fallen twice since the war began. Surely you can take it easily enough.”

A stone settled in Jaime’s gut at the thought of using Brienne that way. Theon Greyjoy had proven that an enemy in the guise of a friend could take the castle as long as he didn’t mind killing most of the people inside. He could find another way, if only he had more time.

“The Queen of Thorns is old, and the city still needs Highgarden’s food stores. I should put down the Tyrells first. The North will still be there.”  


She dropped her hand from his face. “No, the North is in open rebellion. It must be Winterfell first. The Goldcloaks will protect the city in your absence.”

She dropped to her knees at his feet, darkness pooling around her, the crown glinting on her short hair. “Crush our enemies, and we can be together at last.” 

Another temptation. Cersei had offered him that once before, sealing the promise with the heat of her body in the White Sword Tower, but nothing had come of it. Jaime had longed to possess her fully for as long as he had known desire, and she knew that. 

She pressed between his spread legs, hands roaming up his thighs. They hadn’t been this close since the night before he left the Keep. Jaime had threatened to send a group of assassins to the Great Sept to kill the High Sparrow, bitter that he couldn’t do the deed himself anymore, and they’d spent half the night fucking. Every time he’d thought himself spent, Cersei had wrapped her sweet body around his and reminded him of the humiliation she’d endured and how the Faith had turned their boy against them. And his rage had ignited again, stoking his lust for her.

Cersei’s breath teased his ear, her teeth nipped his earlobe. “Nothing else matters as long as I have you with me.”

Nothing, not even their children in the end. Jaime no longer believed her. The throne mattered. 

“Offer the beast marriage. She’s so besotted she’ll open the gates faster than she can open her legs.” Her hand cupped his cock, and a bolt of pleasure shot through him even as he recoiled from her words.

Cersei didn’t simply dislike Brienne. She hated her. Brienne was everything Cersei had never been and never could be.

“Cersei.” The warning in his tone was unwise, but he’d heard enough.   

She squeezed him, none too gently, but they were often rough with each other. “I still see Joffrey’s face in my dreams. I need to watch Sansa Stark die.” 

He closed his eyes as Cersei loosened his laces and slipped her hand inside his breeches to stroke him. Her hand became more demanding as he failed to fully harden. “I need you inside me, Jaime. Make me whole.”

Usually, a demand like that, purred in his ear, would spur him to shove up her skirts and take her right then. But her words came back to him then.  _ We are the only two people in the world. _ She’d sacrificed their son to save herself. Maybe that wasn’t her intention, but she’d done nothing to stop it.

Jaime pushed her back so he could see her face, flushed with wine and lust. All the softness had been burnt out of those eyes, green as the wildfire she’d used to take her vengeance. “Why during the trial?” He knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it.

Annoyance flickered across her face, and her hand stilled. He was nowhere near hard enough for her, but he barely noticed. “They were all against me. And now they’re dead.”

“And so is our son.” All these years, he’d thought Cersei wanted to protect their children. Now it seemed she’d been protecting their power, their claim on that thrice-damned throne. 

She squeezed his cock hard and released him, her face filled with contempt. “I protected him for too long. Tommen was soft, just like his father.” She pushed against his chest as she rose and stalked back to her wine.

“I’m all you have left, Cersei. Don’t make me angry.” The mighty house of Lannister, reduced to just the two of them in a handful of years.

She didn’t bother to look at him. “An angry cripple. How terrifying.”

Jaime waited for her to break, to soften and remember everything he’d done for her. 

At last she spoke. “You will bring me the bastard’s head. You will bring me the little wolf bitch and her whore in armor. And you will watch the Mountain tear them both apart. Or you will never set foot in this castle again.”

“As my queen commands.”


End file.
